Where the Shadows Lie
by Mi Ana I Numen
Summary: The Ford of Bruinen told from different advantage points. Something I just felt like writing... ending will be left as it is for you to ponder and muse. Oneshot.


**Name**: Mi Ana I Numen, In To The West (you can call me Numen for short!)

**Disclaimer**: All characters, places, etc are credited to Tolkien. I am sorry if the spelling or places are different then they are suppose to be! Let me know and I'll try to fix it. I am trying my best though, just blame it on... umm... Sauron! Yeah Sauron, that's it!

**Characters**: Frodo, Aragorn, Gandalf, Elrond, Sam, Merry, Pippin, Glorfindel and other minor characters

**Genre**: Action/ Adventure, Drama

**Rating**: PG 13/ T (safe rating)

**Where the Shadows Lie**

_by Mi Ana I Numen _

They leapt aside of the Road, out of the Riders' way. The group of five could do little but watch helplessly from the sidelines. Even as the Black Riders passed in a jumbled of horse hooves, they could feel the terror that radiated from them. To their horror, more of the messengers of Mordor sprang from the trees. The Nine were united again. They were bent low and their black cloaks whipped behind them. The black horses snorted and galloped fast. It seemed as though even the elven-horse could not outrun them. Evil and determined hate filled the air, mingling and joining to create fear. They all dismayed, even the elven lord Glorfindel and Strider (or Aragorn as Glorfindel referred to him as).

As they lay on the ground however, they could not tear their eyes from the scene that played out before them. Glorfindel had run into the trees but the hobbits did not care. They watched their friend flee in the Riders' wake. It seemed hopeless as Riders galloped after him and turned around to cut him off at the Bridge.

"Come, my friends!" Strider called, voice sounding desperate and commanding.

Glorfindel emerged as Sam, Merry, and Pippin scrambled to their feet. He brandished many sticks, all lit on fire. He handed them each one without explanation and ran. It was later that the hobbits remembered Strider's word on top of Weathertop. They hated fire, although they came from a land laid in waste and heat. Fire was their friend against the Nine. They ran down the bank and onto the road, following after. Aragorn and Glorfindel ran the fast, therefore ended up in the front. The hobbits, still numb with fear trailed after, eyes glued forward. Something of a gasp escaped from them as they panted rapidly. Although difficult to see from this angle, the white and graceful horse that Frodo had been riding on, sprang past the Rider, only narrowly escaping from their clutches.

Glorfindel murmured something to Aragorn as they ran. The hobbits could not catch it however for it was in an elven tongue. Their attention was refocused on running and more importantly, Frodo.

The Riders were already at the River's side and had slowed to a halt. On the opposite bank was the white horse, pacing slightly in agitation. It turned nevertheless and it seemed that Frodo was shouting something to them. His short sword was brandished high at them. What was said, they did not learn until later on. Sam nearly tripped at the sight of his master. Even from the distance he could tell he was in need of help. In the distance, elves of Rivendell were running to their aid and Frodo's. Aragorn and Glorfindel gave another spurt of energy and yelled out a battle cry in elvish. They were near the Riders now and each of the Nine turned their attentions to the company behind them. At that very moment, their came a distant roar. The hoods of the Riders turned upstream and they shrieked in what was pure anger. It had been a trap. Their horses shifted nervously. As Aragorn and Glorfindel drew nearer, yelling and waving their brands of fire, they grew more frantic. The black horses trotted some steps forward to avoid the menacing figure behind them. The Black Riders screeched and yanked at the reins. Some of the horses were only beginning to turn as the full power of nature came crashing down upon them.

The hobbits lost view of Frodo, who had at last, sight been leaning heavily on the horse's neck. What was once tranquil had suddenly became alive and roaring. The River Bruinen was a miraculous sight to behold. The hobbits had nearly forgotten their fear in its great awe. Gray water became violent and foamed white. From the mountains, the rush of white waters took the form of great horses and riders. Among it were rocks, hurling at all that stood in its way. Amid the rush, the Nine Riders had disappeared and their last shrieks were only echoes in their ears as if they had been part of some bad memory. Horses, cloaks, and all were only seen perhaps for a second in the raging river before being carried away down stream.

Remnants of the unleashed power of nature were still left as they reached the riverbank. The river still foamed slightly and moved swiftly. The hobbits were shaken awake as if out of a trance. The power they had just seen had set them in somewhat of a trance. Now, although the Rider gone, their fear was for Frodo. They could not see him yet. Was he swept away? Did he live? Perhaps his illness was being tended to by the elves who ran to aid them? The latter was too optimistic for them to believe. Aragorn and Glorfindel gazed over the calming waters and saw what was on the other side. Old lines of worry were traced again on Aragorn's face while the elf-lord looked distressed. The hobbits waited impatiently for the waters to settle. When it did, they had wished that they did not.

On the opposite bank was a circle of standing elves. Fair they were but worry was also in their eyes. One light haired elf was knelt down next to a figure on the ground. Through the legs, the hobbits could clearly see it was Frodo. The elf turned Frodo over, for he had been facing down, and took him in his arms. He instructed for his sword to be taken while he bore the unconscious hobbit to the Last Homely House.

They feared the worst and Sam had cried out, "Master!" and rushed into the river. Merry and Pippin followed, equally distressed by their cousin's condition. They did not see it but the man and elf had exchanged looks before following.

From a balcony of Rivendell, two had stood together. They had been quietly discussing the world's comings and goings, the most recent of news being the discovery of It. The topic had been slow to build up to. Gandalf the Grey felt that even within one of the safest of place on Middle Earth, it was not wise to mention such dark things. Yet the Lord of Rivendell, Elrond Half-elven, was deeply concerned in them. He had already given tidings of the One Ring the moment he had arrived in Rivendell but newer news had reached him. After exhausting everyday topics, Gandalf had given newer news to Elrond. The Nine were most certainly, abroad, and according to a quick-footed scout, so were the One Ring and its bearer. Whether by fate or by an evil plan, the Ringwraiths of Sauron were closing in on its prey.

Today, the weather remained as moody and ominous as Gandalf's mood. He was outside for a breath of air when Elrond had joined him and told the news. Heaviness had been set for some time but only when he said it did the darkness settle in his heart. Gandalf frowned. He looked to his side; the tall and ebony-haired elf was staring forward. His lips were drawn tight and his keen eyes watching. Gandalf followed his gaze and was startled. His brows stuck out in concentration on the distant shapes. They soon became clear to him.

Elrond called to a servant for a small company of elves to be sent out. In the moment he was turned, Gandalf watched as the white elven horse shot past the nine Ringwraiths. He had no doubt of whom the horse bore. Five small figures ran with some object in their hands. Elrond raised his hand north towards the mountains where the River Bruinen was fed by many tributaries. Gandalf immediately realized what he was doing and added his own touch when Elrond lowered his. With a few mumbled words and a jab of his staff in the same direction, the deed was done. They only had to wait for the events to play out.

Below where they stood, ten or so elves ran nimbly down the hill towards the river as fast as their feet could carry them. Frodo however, did not continue for the elven realm but turned his horse and it reared slightly. They had not counted on this yet the river already could be heard rushing down from the mountains. Gandalf's eyes flickered from the growing rush of water to Frodo. From his viewpoint, he and Elrond could watch the scene clearly enough. He waited with a held breath. Two tall figures and three short figures reached the riverside. Waves in the form of mounted riders swept the Ringwraiths away. Near second later, Frodo went limp and fell from Glorfindel's horse. Gandalf could do little but watch as Elrond's company had reached Frodo first. Soon after, the others crossed the river with a loud cry from one of them. From the distance, Gandalf guessed it was Sam. He was stouter than the others and held, if possible, an even deeper caring for his master.

The elves and others tarried for a moment before bearing Frodo back to Rivendell. Other elves, dwellers of Imladris as that called it, had gathered by windows and doorways and other high points to watch. The general mood had changed greatly. Elrond hurried from the balcony. Other frozen to the spot suddenly came to life again. Gandalf stood for a moment longer and a feeling he had not felt for some time gripped him. Fear.

Fear of the growing darkness, fear for Frodo's friends, and fear for Frodo's life itself sudden seemed to be on the edge of falling into nothingness. All of which happened on Gandalf's own accord. He lowered his head slightly in acknowledgement of his faults. He hoped that it would not cause even more tragedy.

It took a few more age-long minutes for them to finally reach Elrond's house. Gandalf was at the Lord of Rivendell's side as Frodo was set down in a ready-made bed. Servants were dismissed and other healers were outside, ready on call. Elrond was bent low over Frodo and Gandalf stood idly, watching him examine the young hobbit.

Gandalf could not have felt more terrible.

A shrouding veil of despair covered all of Rivendell. Even those who didn't directly know of what took place, began to hear rumors. _The One Ring… Sauron's Nine… a terribly wounded halfling…_ Servants of the Last Homely House could spot some of the wounded hobbit's company. Aragorn lingered in Elrond's house usually inbetween long travels. He was greeted with as much warm welcome as the occasion would allow but even he seemed weighed down by recent events. He felt responsible for Frodo, the halfling. The One Ring should truly be his own burden to bear. Hadn't it come down through the ages from Isildur himself? Then there were always the other three halflings to consider. Not even the oldest of elves could recall such a chance where not one, as with the case of Bilbo, but four halflings traveling together! Such a thing was unheard of. All three however were worried beyond imagination for their friend and cousin. The stoutest of them was especially devoted to watching over Frodo although he wasn't allowed in the room at times.

It took a full day of Elrond prodding and searching Frodo's shoulder for the source of the wound. He worked nonstop with no sleep and little drink. Once he found the source, he feared it was too late. How many days did the hobbit bare such an evil wound? Fourteen? Fifteen? Elrond became amazed when he discovered that all of his are was not fruitless- the hobbit was not yet taken.

He sent servants and assistant healers to his archives for a book, perhaps since the First Rise of Sauron. In it, had the words of full remedy. He terribly regretted that through all of his wisdom and knowledge the words failed his memory. Now it was a race for time, and Frodo's life.

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Author's Note: I don't know. I just felt like writing something like that... review please. 


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